


Cherish

by Quaxo



Series: Unspoken [2]
Category: The Alienist (TV), The Alienist - Caleb Carr
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 14:47:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13953873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quaxo/pseuds/Quaxo
Summary: After the events of "Many Sainted Men", Mary and Laszlo finally have a conversation.Could be considered in the same universe as "Bay Leaves and Peppercorns" although one is not mandatory to understand the other.





	Cherish

His whiskers are coarse, but soft against her fingers as she strokes his cheek. She never imagined that she would ever be so forward -- touching him like this -- but she is weak not due to of her own desires, but in the face of his desperate longing. 

On the outside he is a man who has everything -- he is rich, he is intelligent, he is attractive. It is an image, she knows, that he works hard to maintain. His clothes are made of good material and well cut to his figure, he attends the opera frequently, as well as lectures at the Harvard club, and dines at some of the best restaurants in the city. 

Inside him though there is a hunger that cannot be sated by worldly goods or holy words. For all he tries to hide it from the world and himself, she knows that slivers of that lonely boy he once was remain -- struggling to understand why he is so unloved by those who should treasure him. 

He avoids her gaze, even as he bends himself towards her. His eyelashes brush his cheeks and his nervousness is palpable as he swallows once -- twice -- as if to fortify himself for what will come next. Finally, their eyes meet and she sees that he is on the precipice -- his desire for her warring mightily with his fear of her rejection --

He knows less about the mind than he knows, and is a fool besides, if he thinks that she would spurn him now.

Her head tilts to accommodate his in this ancient dance, as his lips finally touch hers. He’s gentle, just like she imagined. The hairs of his beard tingle against her skin in a way that she can only describe as pleasing. Warmth builds under her skin, and she chases sensation as he pulls back slightly, as if to gauge her reaction. 

He makes himself vulnerable, with this intimacy between them, and the idea must terrify him a little. He has spent a lifetime building walls to protect himself, letting few peer behind them, and now he is allowing her in deeper than any who have come before. His fragility exposed for her to crush --

\-- or to cherish, she admonishes with her lips, urging him forward to share a second kiss between them.

When they break again, her fingers reach out to stroke under his chin and those wiry hairs which she is growing to adore almost as much as the man attached to them. She smiles, even as his hesitancy returns, for no one kiss could erase a lifetime of doubts.

She is, however, quite eager to conduct an inquiry to see how many kisses that it might take to quell them. 

They could go upstairs, into the room that she has entered many times, but never as a guest. Free themselves of these confining clothes and touch each other. He will be shy, reluctant to stir up bad memories for her -- until she shows him that nothing he does could remind her of those times. She would lead him, taking care with him, showing him her love since she hasn’t been given words to convey it. It would be slow, and sweet, and leave them both breathless by the end.

Their shared anxiety propels them in different directions. He is slow to accept happiness -- perhaps he feels it better to have never have felt it, than to have it only for it to be taken from him. She, however, is all to willing to recklessly gorge herself on what morsels she finds, better to have a taste and be left wanting than to die and never had it at all.

For Laszlo, though, she is willing to bide her time. 

They converse late into the night -- first over cold dinner, and later over sherries in the drawing room. He seems determined to give her fits -- questioning whether her affections are merely misplaced gratitude or perhaps naivete about the world outside the sanctuary of the house. He asks not because he doubts her, she now sees, but because he doubts himself.

It is fortunate that those who convinced him that his love is so terrible were buried long ago, otherwise she would be tempted to put them in the ground for him. 

After many assurances on her part that she is of sound mind when it comes to her feelings for him, he finally seems willing to accept them. 

“I am sure are aware of how relations like ours usually go.”

If he means that the housekeepers may become lovers, but only where others might not see, and never wives, then, yes, she is perfectly aware. Whatever they decide to call this between them, society still has rules, and she is no fool -- She made her peace with these facts ages ago --

“I would like --” He pauses, eyes dropping again, and as a blushes rises to his cheeks she can see a glimpse of the young man he used to be before his walls had solidified into inscrutability. “That is -- I wish to court you, Miss Palmer -- properly -- if that is to your satisfaction?”

He glances up at her nervously, and if she she thought she could not love him more then she was entirely wrong. 

_I would like that_ , she smiles, reaching out to grasp his hand, _very much indeed, Mr. Kreizler_.


End file.
